


Animal Passions

by ausmac



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 08:55:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8572189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: One of those damned potion-gone-wrong type stories.
One of my earlier forays into HP writing, and in writing this very unusual - but rather entertaining pairing.





	

It was a matter of some delicacy and a great deal of patience, to get the potion just so. But such patience, and skill, the Potions Master of Hogwarts had in abundance. 

Severus Snape measured two drops of liquid paraffin and added them to the mix, before bending to mark another ingredient off his neatly penned recipe.  Had he been the sort of man to hum while he worked, he would have been humming then.  In his room, surrounded by his things, his potions and his tools, comfortably hidden from the eyes of lesser mortals beneath the vast and beautiful walls of Hogwarts, Snape was in his true element. 

This particular potion was of his own design and the end result of many weeks of work.  That would have been enough to make it special, but it was more than simply an experiment.  This was something of personal importance to him, as much medicine as magic. 

Passion, he thought, is best reserved for one’s endeavours.  He selected a dark green bottle from the ingredients shelf labeled “Viola Tricolor”.  Uncorking it, he drizzled a small amount into the cauldron.  To direct one’s passion to one’s art and skill, that was a worthy purpose.  To be consumed by it from within – well, that he could and would not permit.  Severus Snape rarely worked magic for his only personal needs but sometimes one had to make exceptions. 

The last ingredients were two hairs that he dropped into the cauldron – one black and straight, the other brown and twisted and thick.  When they had melted and merged with the liquid,  Snape adjusted the burner beneath the cauldron to set the mixture bubbling.  Steam rose from it, dark and oily, a little stifling, but that was as it should be.  This was a potion to stifle, to restrain certain urges which were disruptive to the spirit and mind.  Not to mention damned improper. . . 

After a few minutes on the boil, the water had evaporated leaving a grey sludgy bubbling mass.  Snape turned off the burner and took up his wand.  He gestured a serious of sinuous motions over the cauldron and spoke two words: 

“Congelus frigesco!” 

Within moments the mix had cooled; Snape continued to motion until the potion had lost all its heat and small drifts of chilled air hovered over the cauldron.  It had to be cold, chilled, entirely without heat.  That was part of the potion’s nature and essential to its proper effect. 

As he poured the mix into a bowl to settle, Snape gave a small satisfied smile.  It was almost a pity he was such a fine teacher  _While there is something quite satisfying about molding suitably intelligent children into fine wizards, the appeal of pure research cannot be denied._  

He set the bowl of potion in a clear area in the middle of the work bench, and placed a jug of liquid beside it.  The milky liquid was a safety measure, an all-purpose reversal in case the mixture had unexpected side effects.  Snape was quite certain there would be none, he had very thoroughly tested it each step of the way.  Still, the last potions master who took unregistered potions for granted was probably still enjoying life as a toad somewhere.  Only a fool took magic for granted.

* * *

 

Hagrid had knocked on the door.  Twice.  After the third knock, which had been loud enough to send booming echoes through the underground passageways, he'd heard a muffled sharp sound and took it as permission to enter. He hadn't been in Severus Snape's rooms all that often, but always thought the place suited its inhabitant - dark and shadowed,  filled with magic and mystery - and a wee bit confusing..  Nor messy, precisely (Hagrid was the one more used to living untidily) - Severus Snape was one of the most organised people Hagrid knew.  But a man just didn't know where to look, and what strange new thingamebob might be lurking in a dark corner. After a few minutes of being ignored by the figure hunched over the cauldron on the cluttered bench, Hagrid cleared his throat noisily.  Snape responded without moving from his position. "What is it, Hagrid?" Hagrid held up the pouch he was clutching in his left hand.  "I brought the bulbs ya wanted, Professor." Snape did look up at that, his black hair falling across his face as he straightened.  "Good.  Put it over there -" he waved at a bench against the wall, "and hand me that measuring ladle." Hagrid dropped the pouch of Nightblooming Black Iris bulbs next to the set of silver scales and the black oak mortar and pestle.  He picked up the big brass ladle and handed it to Snape. "There ya go.  Wotcha making, if I can ask?" "That's all.  Thank you." Hagrid huffed out a sigh through is beard.  Severus Snape was intriguing, frustrating and generally as rude as could be and he wondered why he bothered trying to like the man.  Except maybe that dealing with dangerous creatures was his passion, and Severus Snape certainly qualified as that.  

With a resigned sigh, he turned to leave, but as he did Snape looked up again, eyes narrowing.  “Well, now that you are here, I suppose this is as good a time as any to test this thing.” 

Puzzled, Hagrid stopped and looked back.  “’scuse me, Professor, but what has my bein’ here to do with anything, if I may be so bold?” 

“A great deal, as it happens.”  Severus poured out a measure of the potion into a small silver cup and held it up to the lamplight.  “You might say you are the reason for its existence.”  Snape held the cup under his nose and took a sniff.  “Hmm.  Revolting.  Well, most good medicines are, I suppose.”  Without further ado, Snape tipped up the cup and swallowed the contents, grimacing at the taste.  “Yech.!”  He put the cup back on the table and stood for a moment, expression intent – then he coughed.  A small cough turned into a series of rolling gasps and the potions master thumped the table as he face turned red. 

“Not…quite…. _choke_ ….right…think… _cough_ …I may have….got it wrong….!” 

And then he began to choke in earnest. 

Horrified, Hagrid grabbed Snape by the shoulder figure and began pounding him on the back.  “Professor!  Here now, this doesn’t seem right, let’s get you up and over to Madam Pomfrey, she’ll look after you. . .” 

Convulsions rippled through Snape’s body and he moaned, his voice a groaning shiver from deep in his chest.  The hair on the back of Hagrid’s neck stood up at the sound – he’d never heard anything quite so nasty coming from the Potions master.  

“Oh my, I have to get you to Pomfrey now,  I’ll have to carry you I s’pose.”  As he went to reach beneath Snape’s chest to try and lift him, the wizard stopped shaking.  There was a grunt, a deep inhalation and then Snape begun to stand.  Slowly, very slowly, he raised his head and looked up into Hagrid’s face that was only a handspan away. 

Those dark eyes that had always fascinated Hagrid were staring at him unblinkingly and Snape’s expression was oddly blank.  He continued to straighten, unfolding himself in a sinuous motion, moving closer to Hagrid with slow, fluid undulations.  Transfixed by that unblinking black stare, Hagrid watched Snape slide closer, to bend his head against Hagrid’s chest – and sniff. 

Snape was smelling him, moving his nose over the rough linen of Hagrid’s shirt, before nudging it apart to smell the half-giant’s generously furred chest. 

Open-mouthed with shocked surprise, Hagrid watched Snape press his face closer - but when the wizard began to lick him, Hagrid came to himself and began to back away. 

“Now, just a moment there, this is very peculiar, I think I’d best go get help.  Now, you stay right there, Professor, no, don’t be followin’ me, ‘cause while I quite like bein’ licked, and I don’t object to you doin’ it all that much really, you’re truly not yerself, y’know, and when you get to be yerself agin you’ll be right mad at me if I let you lick me’an all…” 

He knew he was rambling but the sight of Snape watching him with intense feral interest as he stalked him across the room, was enough to disrupt anyone’s concentration.  When the professor starting licking his lips, Hagrid decided that the proper thing to do was make a run for it, and he swung around towards the door.  

He reached for the door knob, but as his fingers touched it,  Snape growled – literally.   It was some sort of spell, and whatever it was, it had stopped him in his tracks.  Before he could start to fight its effects, Hagrid was being hauled backwards and thrown across Snape's workbench. Equipment, bottles, papers and assorted paraphernalia went flying as Hagrid hit the thick wooden bench on his back.  His head impacted on the wood with a thump and he saw bright lights for a moment or two – when the pain and the lights diminished he felt a draft of cool air across his chest.  He could move his head enough to drop his chin and he saw the Snape had pulled his coat and shirt open and had bent to rub his face through the hair on Hagrid’s stomach. 

The sight of Snape rubbing himself against Hagrid’s belly was so amazing that he forgot to be concerned for a bit.  He was transfixed by the image of it, and the feel as well, because Severus was sliding his hands up, combing through the hair to reach Hagrid’s nipples where they were half-submerged in his chest hair.  When Snape began to pinch and tweak them, fear disappeared and other things woke up. 

“Oh my, that’s..do you really think you should be adoin’ that, Severus. . .well, now that’s. . .Cripes!”  Snape drew closer, his mouth taking the place of his fingers as he sucked and chewed on one nipple, and then the other.  Even as he did, he watched Hagrid, his eyes hooded, his expression feral and hungry,  and Hagrid groaned as a pink tongue emerged to lather one large nipple, licking it as if it were a sweet.  

So stunned by events was Hagrid that it took him a few moments to realise that Snape was humming…no, not humming, it was almost… 

Purring. 

Not like a little cat purrs, though; more like the chest rumbling, grating purr of a big cat.  It was so fascinating, that when Hagrid realised that the magic holding him in place had faded, he didn’t try to move.  Moving would mean Snape would stop doing what he was doing.  That would be a Bad Thing. 

He watched, fascinated, as long-fingered white hands moved down over his hips, tugging clothing apart without concern for fabric that ripped or buttons that popped.  One of those white, dangerous hands had pulled his trousers open and had wormed its way inside and it finally dawned on a stunned Hagrid what it was that the Potion Master wanted. 

Him.  Not to hurt him or bespell him or do anything particularly bad to him.  He wanted sex.  And by the fixed expression on that fine, pale face, Severus Snape was determined to get what he wanted. 

"Now, Professor, you're not yerself!  Let me - oof!"  A knee ground into Hagrid's groin and hands that seemed to be in far too many places at once moved over him, dragging his clothing open, burrowing into his trousers, working their long-fingered way under his beard to grab the back of his neck.  His head came up as Severus somehow managed to work his robe up over his hips so that he could straddle Hagrid's body. During his years at Hogwarts, Hagrid had seen many strange and wonderful things, but none of them quite matched  the sight of Potions Master Severus Snape sitting on his thighs with his robe up around his waist, his hair wild and damp around his face, a face flushed and aroused with hunger.  Hunger directed at Hagrid. 

That potion!  Well, now there was a pickle!  Something had gone wrong and it had done this to Snape, and the mannerly thing to do was to grab hold of the Professor and hold onto him until he could get help – but then Snape began to slide himself along Hagrid’s thigh, growling from deep in his throat, a sound of pleasure and demand – and thoughts about right or wrong went straight from Hagrid’s head.  The wizard hummed from deep in his chest and wore the satisfied expression of a man who’d found exactly what he needed. 

The feel of that hot, callused hand wrapped around his most sensitive skin sent shivers through Hagrid’s body and somehow his own hands found themselves grabbing Snape’s arse.  Just the right size, fitting nicely onto the palms of his hands..  He rubbed his middle fingers down the cleft between, running the blunt tips over the puckered ring of Snape’s arsehole.  Like pressing a door bell, Hagrid thought, as the Wizard curled his arse up and spread his legs, hissing with pleasure.  

“You’ll do me in for this later, y’know,” Hagrid whispered up into the feral gaze staring down at him as he took Snape’s hand away from his root.  “For lettin’ ya touch me and fer touchin’ ya like this when you was not in yer right head.  But my, it does feel good . .  .“ 

All the lurid little fantasies of many a lonely night popped up and waved their hands for attention.  He’d always fancied Snape, found him intriguing and strong, in his own way, and delicate and elegant too, like a statue he’d seen in a store once.  The statue had been carved of magicked black ice, perpetually gleaming from its hidden depths – icy and beautiful. 

And here he is, all melted, Hagrid thought fuzzily, as he failed to even try and push away that hand that had latched onto his organ again and begun to squeeze it.  He wriggled, trying to find a more comfortable angle for himself on the hard surface of the bench.  Snape reared back, grabbed him and swung him about and before he could open his mouth to say, here now!  he was pressed stomach-first onto the table and Severus was pressing against his handily revealed backside. 

Hands scrabbling at the wooden planks, Hagrid fought to keep his balance - which wasn’t easy with his trousers down around his knees.  He wondered, in part of his mind not babbling in delighted shock, whether he should try and get through to the Professor, try and stop this from happening.  But all thought of reason and logic fled when a warm, damp palm rubbed across the puckered entrance of his ass.  And when a stiff finger pushed its way inside him, his mind turned off as rapidly as his cock grew. 

Hagrid had never ever thought that anyone might want to do that to him, and the erotic shock of it went through him like a spell blast.  He shuddered and clenched the table so hard the wood groaned.  I’ll get splinters, he thought dazedly, as he pushed backwards against that tantalizing hand.  I’ll have splinters in me belly and Severus Snape’s fingers in my arsehole and I don’t care, I really don’t.

Then there were other thinks pushing at him – more fingers, hot and hard, sliding through and working him open and as inexperienced as he was with that sort of thing, he knew what would follow. 

Silent still, except for an occasional throaty growl, Snape was rubbing against him, and Hagrid felt the blunt, moist tip of his cock nudging its way inside.  There was no pain, only the sound of grunting satisfaction from Snape and his own broken breathing.  He arched backwards, opening himself more and in a moment Snape was all the way in and humping against him with increasing strength.  Two hands slid around his hips to grab his poor cock where it was wedged against the edge of the table.  Caught between the violent thrusts and the grasping hands, Hagrid let himself collapse forward until his head rested on the table top.  

He realised he was still drooling, saliva dribbling down his chin as he gurgled and groaned when Snape’s cock nudged against something sensitive inside him.  He was also saying things, not very clever things like oh yes, do that pr’fessor, deeper there if you wouldn’t mind, oh good lordy but that’s wonderful, harder, yes, yes, yes… 

But it didn’t seem to bother Snape.  His actions became, if anything, more violent until he was slapping against Hagrid’s wide buttocks with each inward thrust.  The combined pressure of the cock against his tender innards, his own root being pushed into the table and Snape’s hands mangling his testicles finally pushed him over the edge and he came off with a rumbling shout, spraying his seed onto hands and table and himself. 

Snape was practically wrapped around him, the long legs twined around his thighs as he arched himself up and pushed down with each thrust.  He was also beginning to make sounds; hissing groans that climaxed in a vibrating low growl as he came. 

Both of them slid to the floor, and sometime later Hagrid found himself resting with his back against the table leg, with Snape lying across his chest in an exhausted sprawl.  When his brain was working again, he wondered what he could possibly say. 

Snape’s breath stirred the sweaty hairs on his chest.  “Well.  That was a remarkably unsuccessful potion.” 

The normal sarcastic tone had weathered down to wry, weary humour and, feeling daring, Hagrid stroked the glossy head lying so close to his heart.  “Depends on what you was wanting it to do.”  He didn’t stop his stroking and Snape didn’t appear to mind.  “Not thinkin’ of murderin’ me or anything, are you, Severus?” 

“I rather think,” Snape said, finally lifting his head to look up at Hagrid, “that our positions are reversed.  I forced you.  You could have me dismissed.” 

The chuckle that grew in Hagrid’s chest rocked Snape;  he tried to pull away but was held in place by a large, gentle hand.  “Now then, Severus, think again.  First off, you didn’t force me.  I could have clocked you over the head with yer cauldron at any time when you were a mite distracted.  Fact is, I were enjoying myself.”  With a sigh – for truly, he could have laid there all night on that cold stone floor with Severus Snape lying half-naked on his chest – Hagrid sat up and assisted Snape to stand.  “You’d best tell me what happened, though.  I’m a bit curious.” 

Snape pulled his clothing together, wrapping the robe around himself and pulling up his pants.  “You have developed a skill in understatement, Hagrid.”  Sounding more like his old self, Severus began collecting the scattered jars of ingredients from the floor and bench.  “I was working on a potion that was meant to control certain . . . physical reactions.  There were particular feelings that I thought were better avoided – or removed altogether.” 

“Feelings?”  Hagrid sensed Snape’s tension, saw it in the face turned from him and the stiff hunch of the shoulders.    “Aye, well, if you mean by that you were lowering the old libido, then I got to say, it had the exact opposite effect.  Thought why you would want - - ah.”  

Hagrid stopped, as one thought connected to another, and he walked around the table and laid a hand on Snape’s arm.  “Severus –“ 

“Don’t.”  Snape froze, looking down at the jar of herbs in his hand, which quivered slightly. “The effects are not yet quite gone.” 

“But its me yer dosing yerself against, isn’t it?  Can’t have the Potions Master of Hogwarts feelin’ something for a half-giant, then?” 

Snape pulled back and turned away, uncapping the jar as he did and bending to sniff it.  “That is rather sharp – not Hearstease…”  He held up the jar and Hagrid knew he was being ignored as that sharp mind focused on the cause of the problem.  Snape poured out some of the herb and rubbed it between his fingers, then sniffed the crushed, dried plant.  “Damn and blast!  This isn’t Viola Tricolor – its Epimedium Sagittatum!” 

“And that would be?” 

Snape gave an abrupt snort and corked the small jar, putting it up on the shelf.  “More commonly known as Horny Goat Weed.  Some fool has mislabeled it.  So the primary ingredient boosted reaction instead of cooling it.  No wonder!” 

“You didn’t answer my question.”  Hagrid waited patiently, and finally Snape turned to look up at him.  There was wariness there, and a surprising vulnerability.  He was withdrawing behind that icy façade that had always kept people at a distance. 

“Not tonight, Hagrid.  When I have had time to think, to consider –“ 

Thinking, Hagrid thought, was often over-rated.  He reached out, grabbed Snape around both upper arms and lifted him up.  Before Severus could do more than gape in surprise, there was a giant hand cupping his arse and another holding him tight against a broad chest.  

“Hagrid!  I DEMAND you put me down at once!” 

Hagrid grinned.  “Yer right feisty when you’ve had a poke, ain’t ya!  You forced yerself on me, remember?  My turn!”  He ignored the hands scrabbling at his jacket or the feet kicking at his thighs:   rubbing his bearded cheeks over Snape’s neck, he licked any skin he could reach.  “You can pretend I’ve taken a potion, if you like, and it’s made us both randy and uncontrollable, turned us both into animals and we’re out of our minds.” 

"You know," murmured Hagrid, as he got down to some serious cuddling, "we could bottle it and sell it at the annual Hogsmeade Craft Fair.  Snape Alixir - we'd make a fortune!" 

“Do not,” Snape whispered savagely, as he reached for Hagrid, “even consider it!” 

And then those pale, clever hands were grabbing fistfulls of his hair,  but the only spell Snape uttered was a low groan, and the only magic either of them made was the oldest magic of all.


End file.
